Monthly Archives: February 2014

This next post comes with a warning. I suppose it would be a PG. Literally, Parental Guidance. Or Potential of Goo. Or Poo & Grossness.

Do not read on if you are squirmish and/or are thinking about having a baby.

Or do, because it would tell you a few things that people failed to tell me before I had one!

This evening, at around 6:15, I watched as my beautiful, angelic faced, sweetheart of a daughter, squatted on her chubby little legs whilst fully naked in the bath, and squeezed out around 5 gobstopper sized balls of poo. Into the bath water. I then proceeded to watch my husband scoop each little ball out with his bare hands, scrabbling after them as they floated around the bath and Lylah’s bum, trying to escape his grasp.

That was the first time Lylah pooed in the bath, and it was hilarious! I thought the whole thing was very funny, as did Chris, and we chuckled as we continued to bathe her and commented on how comical this little episode was. Lylah looked rather pleased with herself and squealed with delight as the floaters (actually, they started to sink a bit) were extracted, and she splashed around with her bath toys. We were both just so relieved that it was a rather solid form of poo, as opposed to some of her other nappy delights.

No one warns you about this. No one tells you just how much poo and puke and saliva and goo and food that you are continuously up to your eyes in.

Your baby enters this world in a state of gooey delight, covered in blood and other stuff (ewww), and is quickly dried off with a blanket and given to you to cuddle, kiss and caress. Which of course you do, because this is your baby, your own flesh and blood, and so it doesn’t matter how icky and sticky they are, you just don’t care about that stuff anymore.

In their first few weeks, to give them their credit, they do live up to the cute, sweet smelling stereotype that newborns have become famous for. All of their new clothes smell of fresh linen after you’ve spent hours getting them all prepared in the last few weeks of maternity leave, the nursery is spotless, and there isn’t a yellow coloured poo stain in sight! Oh how that changes.

Also, the content of adult conversation is taken to a whole different level. As new parents, there is a new, untouched layer of dialogue, where it is suddenly okay to talk about colours/textures/contents of poo, the pattern of today’s nappy changes and the ever-changing milk production of your boobs. And, in a ground-breaking revelation to you all (I can’t believe I’m about to tell you this) we have been known to snap a picture of said nappy contents, and send it to each other, along with a comment like “third one of the morning, that was the big dinner she ate last night!” Yes, we are those parents now, the ones who take delight in discussing their children’s toilet habits with each other/other people/anyone who will listen.

We have had too many disgusting baby poo/goo/puke/food incidents to write about them all, but here are a few of my favourites:

Projectile Poo (PP) – Lylah was amazing at these. One lift of her legs during a nappy change and she took the opportunity to point and shoot, spraying anything in it’s line of fire with a mustardy coloured, milk infused shot of runny poo. The best one was when Chris and I were once changing her nappy together. It was almost like she wanted to put on a bit of a show for us, so she took it to the next level. She aimed for the wall, and she got the bullseye! Thank goodness for wipe over wallpaper and paint – it was quickly removed with no stain in sight, thank goodness! We had a number of these incidents, and they normally resulted in either Chris or I being covered in the stuff, or it would lead to another of her baby vests becoming victim of another PP episode. Vanish became my new best friend, but sometimes, when the PP was just too much for me to handle, the vests just went to baby vest heaven, along with the other victims of PP attacks, including baby grows, trousers and tights. Sad face.

Va Va Vom – Vomit/sick/puke/”spit up”. Always gross, always smelly, and ALWAYS ON ME. Lylah was a sicky baby. She puked a lot. In the early days (first six months or so) I was continually covered in baby sick, constantly covered in muslin cloths, and probably smelled pretty horrible all of the time. It got to the point where I would leave the house knowingly covered in baby sick. If it were pointed out by anyone I would laugh and say, “oops, I didn’t realise that was there!” But I did realise, and the reason I didn’t get changed is because it would just have happened again, and again, and again.

Dribble – this one isn’t so bad. Babies dribble… It’s the dribbling on mummy’s face that is a bit grosser, and giving mummy kisses and dribbling on her mouth, and dribbling on her new shirt, and dribbling on anything and everything that they can get their squidgy little hands on! As a mother, you get used to this. You eat their saliva covered left over biscuit, because it doesn’t matter to you – they came out of you for goodness sake! I used to laugh at Chris because he would never eat from Lylah’s spoon if it had her baby goo on it. That has changed now, he’s got used to it, and Chris rightly states, “you can never see food go to waste”, and so polishing off her Weetabix in the mornings now isn’t a problem for him!

Food – Weaning is an amazing time. You get excited about buying the necessary bits and bobs, you make up some purees, you give them some finger foods. The natural thing is to eat when you’re hungry, so you imagine that your little munchkin will polish up whatever you put in front of them, leaving no trace in sight. No no no. This is the MESSIEST time. Lylah’s high chair is constantly covered, I’m always finding food in places that I haven’t even given it to her, and once again, mummy’s clothes fall victim to the baby shot-put tryouts.

So…Enjoy the short spell when your babies smell of babies, and the rare occasions that they are asleep, clean and dry all at the same time, because mostly babies are smelly, messy and overall pretty gross!

In the spirit of sharing, it would be great if you could share your MOST disgusting baby poo/puke/goo stories with me. Just comment below on this blog post, and tell all!

Certain that I was right and that mum must have misheard, when I got home that evening I asked Chris if he was, as I thought, at home tomorrow. “Stop winding me up”, he said.

“I’m not!” I replied, “I genuinely thought you were home, so who is looking after Lylah?!”

And there it was, the first time that our well worked out, so far so good, daily working parents routine, became not quite so well worked out. I was so annoyed at myself for letting this happen (control control), yet still convinced I was right!

I recently acquired us a family planner, to stop this kind of thing happening. I’m always double booking things and forgetting to send cards, so laying it all out on one page, one month at a time, means there is no excuse!

I saw Chris walking over to the planner, and inside I’m secretly hoping that it states that tomorrow, he is in fact off, and that this is his mistake. But no, there it was, a blank little space on tomorrow’s date. Chris looked at me, all smirky with an “I told you so” written all over his face…ugghh!

Luckily for us, we have a fantastic support network; family who will have Lylah at the drop of a hat, and help us out whenever we need. I called my mum and she immediately agreed to having Lylah again. Phew!

I’d organised a couple of weeks ago to have some dinner out with my friends from work, Holly and Kelly, after all, if I’m doing the long drive to get there, I want to make the most out of it, and have some me time with the girls when I can. I don’t feel guilty about this; it’s so important that mummies get that time to themselves, after being everything they can be for their children.

The next chapter of the childcare saga came this morning just before Chris left for work. “Bye love. Oh, I’m on the late tonight.”

“What?!?” So, he wasn’t going to be able to be back on time to collect Lylah, and I was meant to be going out. Holly had moved her personal training session to a whole other night, so I can’t let them down now!!

Umm, I don’t actually think I’d communicated my evening’s plans with Chris, so once again #mummyfail…

Again, mum to the rescue! Upon dropping off Lylah, she happily agreed to take her for few hours longer, even taking my house key so she could bring her home, get her ready for bed at the normal time, and then wait for one of us to return to our parental duties!

So, why do I feel bad? Well, I’d noticed a missed call from my mum when I left Bristol, so I called her back. She didn’t know how to put the heating on, so she had been sitting in the cold since 7pm, and it was now 8:15. She was sitting in her coat, and she really wanted to go to Sainsburys.

Luckily, Chris was nearly home, and she got away after a long 11-hour day looking after our little girl. And for that I’m so thankful. So today’s post is dedicated to everyone that helps us with Lylah, so that Chris and I can continue to work and so that I can have some occasional me time. We thank Mum, Dad, Nan and Granddad who all have Lylah week in, week out, and anyone else who helps us out whenever they can. We couldn’t do it without you.

In the 13 months that we have had Lylah, Chris and I have always tried to maintain the idea that we can still do things like lunches out/family dinners/any nice occasion that you used to enjoy without a baby. There are the obvious ones that are a no go – the pub, cocktail bars and Las Vegas holidays being among them. Then there are the ones that a baby should be able to fit into quite easily. After all, there are lots of “family-friendly” places to go now, with all the bits and bobs you need, and if they don’t have them, well, you simply bring them along with you in your ten bags.

It is a Sunday afternoon in our house, daddy is relaxing and dozing on the sofa, Lylah is content with her big teddy, plastic carrot and apple and watching her favourite cartoon (lay off judgy people), and I’m sat typing this (don’t worry judgys, I will play with her shortly). However, today has not been this chilled out until pretty much now. We have just returned from a birthday lunch out, and as it traumatised me slightly, I thought I’d write about it.

I think today was the day when I realised I don’t have a baby anymore. I now have a full blown, tantrummy, whirlwind of a toddler. She is only 13 months, and I think it’s unfair that this has happened to me. They’re not meant to be terrible until they’re 2!! Did she turn 2 and I miss it? Has there been some kind of weird time travel event that passed me by while I was up to my eyes in baby washing last week? I look at Lylah now, and I don’t see a baby, I see a little girl. She is so determined and knows exactly what she wants, how she wants it, and most importantly mummy, WHEN she wants it! I read a great blog by Renegade Mothering (check it out, it’s brilliant) about her feeling awful about being judgy wudgy about screaming toddlers. She says how she always thought, after having a couple of lovely quiet ones, that there must be some pattern of awful parenting that leads to a toddler throwing a tantrum in public. Well, I’m ashamed to admit, that I probably thought the same thing in my old life. I used to think that I would be so calm and lovely and zen-like, that any baby of mine would be an angelic blob of loveliness, playing happily, giggling and eating everything I served up neatly and within seconds of me placing it in front of her.

How wrong was I? Lylah does play happily…once a day for about 30 seconds. She also giggles a lot, which is very cute, but is almost always accompanied by us having an energy fuelled play session in the house along with every toy she owns, lots of music, and me making endless funny faces and noises. She doesn’t/hasn’t ever/will probably never sit and eat quietly/happily/cleanly.

Chris and I got into the car after a traumatic couple of hours, looked at each other, and gave each other a high 5. A high flippin’ 5! That’s how proud of ourselves we were just to get through it. Lylah stared at us from the back seat with her grumpy little face wondering what all the fuss was about. Well Lylah, let me tell you…

We arrived having had a pleasant morning so far. Dressed in your gorgeous frock, purple patents and a clip in your hair, you napped in the car (perfect!) and woke with a smile on your face. Yes! Upon entering the venue, you had a look round, stared at a few people, and gradually felt happy enough to get down and explore. You drank some juice, sat in a big chair and were in a generally good mood.

I was slightly worried about the next bit. As you hate sitting in your high chair, I thought we may have a bit of trouble with you sitting in a chair contraption at the big table. You hated it at first, screaming every time we tried to pop you in, and stiffening those chubby little legs of yours. Eventually, you decided that you would sit down, happily munching on a bread stick from each hand, then grabbing the big spoon and banging it on the table for the next 15 minutes. I’m sure everyone was thrilled with your musical accompaniment Lylah; you have a talent! We took this opportunity to feed you some beef mush, which you liked, so phew! After nearly choking yourself with the chair’s straps by slipping down so far they came up to your neck, daddy took you outside. The resulting encounter with a peacock was just too much for you to bear, so I was surprised to see you return to me with a big smile on your face! The next hour and half was filled with you wanting to get down, then wanting to get up and running around the table to escape the party to explore the other rooms. You screamed when daddy lifted you and shouted when mummy sat you on her lap. You wouldn’t drink from your water bottle, but made every attempt possible to drink from an actual big person’s water receptacle.

I’m thankful we were sat with other mummies and babies, and so they would (hopefully) understand what we were going through. Their babies were being superbly well behaved, but they are not yet at toddler terror stage, so I told myself that if Lylah was still 8 months old, she would have been fine today. Thinking back, I’m not sure how much truth there is in that, but ah well!

We were also sat next to a pregnant lady and her husband, and with 4 weeks to go, I’m sure they are filled with excitement and anticipation at the arrival of their bundle of joy. I really hope that sitting next to us for 2 hours hasn’t scared the living daylights out of them.

In a tag team effort, we got through the rest of the lunch, and now I’m sat on a sofa (you hopefully now understand why we need this moment of calm), and thinking about it with hindsight, she wasn’t actually that bad. Anyway, she wasn’t bad at all, she was simply being a toddler. An exploring, curious, eager, determined, clever little girl who is excited at the world around her and despises highchairs, confinement and straps. Thank you Jamie, Adele and Brody, and your family and friends for having us today, and I apologise for the spoon banging.